


Winchester Escort Service

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bachelorette Party, Coming Untouched, F/M, M/M, Panty Kink, Prostitute Dean, Prostitute Sam, Prostitution, Rimming, Sam In Panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 14:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12134256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: There's always someone looking, no matter where hunting takes them. Lonely housewives, horny businessmen. Anyone with enough money and inclination.Tonight is a bachelorette's party. Dean helps Sam prepare.





	Winchester Escort Service

“You got a condom?” Sam was rifling through his bag, throwing things around.

“Yeah, inner pocket.” Dean’s beer was balanced precariously on one knee as he tried to get the TV remote working. “Got a gig?”

“Mmh. How do I look?” Sam was naked, faintly shimmering from the glitter body butter he liked. Dean rolled his eyes. Sam was so theatrical. He couldn’t argue that it worked, though. Made him look ethereal.

“Like a thousand bucks an hour, dude. What is it?”

“Birthday, I think? I don’t really know. Her friends organised it. Wedding present, maybe?” He huffed, testing his skin to see if the cream had dried. “You got anyone?”

“Nah. No fishes out here.” Sam worked the internet. Grindr. Craig’s list. Local forums. Boys, girls, anyone with the money. Always someone looking, no matter where hunting took them. Dean didn’t go in for that kind of stuff. He had his regulars. Wives who didn’t get enough attention from their husbands. Businessmen who needed someone on the weekends. He’d cast a few lines already but there were no nibbles in the area. “Want the handcuffs?”

“Hmm… not tonight. But I’ll take that strawberry lube if you’ve still got it?”

“Finished it last week, sorry.”

“We should get more.”

“No argument here. I’ve got vanilla? In the back next to—yeah.”

“Ugh we’re almost out of this, too. Gimme a hand?”

“What, you’re gonna stretch for a birthday?”

“Pays to be prepared.” He settled on the couch next to Dean, on his hands and knees, and squirted out a dollop of the vanilla lube. “You should do it before your gigs too. Remember that time in Bellevue?”

Dean winced. He had gone to a party expecting some pleasantly drunk housewives and had been totally unprepared when one of them had brought out a strap-on. “Good point,” he conceded. He put his beer on the ground and snagged the lube from Sam. His brother was already two knuckles deep and Dean added another finger, gently stretching him out. Pulling against the familiar heat. He twisted around to press against Sam’s prostate—force of habit—and grinned when Sam gasped, clenching around him.

“ _Oh,_ again, Dean.”

Dean complied, and added a third finger just to see Sam arch. He leaned forward to lick at the place where they were joined and drank Sam’s sounds like liquid gold. Oh yeah. Take that to the bank.

“More,” Sam demanded. His moan turned to a whine when Dean didn’t deliver.

“Careful,” he cautioned, “don’t wanna ruin the entertainment for tonight.”

“Hm? Ugh. Fine.” Sam pulled his finger free and Dean followed suit, watching as Sam’s hole closed behind them, winking wetly. Dean wanted to lick into it, get a taste of that vanilla lube, get a taste of _Sam,_ but a taxi honked outside and Sam darted away, dashing into the next room to grab his duffel and clothes.

 _Prude,_ Dean thought fondly as Sam got changed in the other room.

The taxi honked again and with a wave Sam was gone.

It was good now that they both worked. If one of them didn’t get a bite then the other could pick up the slack. Keep enough money in their wallets to put petrol in the car and bullets in the guns.

Dean settled in front of the TV and scrolled through the pay-per-view channels.

His phone buzzed thirty minutes later.

_Hen’s nite._

Dean smirked. He already knew what the next text would be.

_Come._

Course Sammy had found the only fucking hen’s night probably for the next hundred clicks. Dean ordered a taxi.

 _Who am I?_ he texted. Would he be a best friend? A boyfriend?

 _Brthr,_ came the reply.

Oh yes. Dean’s favourite kind of party.

The address Sam sent was residential. The music was so loud that Dean’s eyeballs vibrated with it. He was wearing dark jeans, and a black t-shirt. Black boots to match. He would have liked to walk in without knocking but it was always good to make an entrance, so he rang the doorbell. Made sure everyone was looking his way as he stalked into the main room.

“Ladies,” he purred. Someone cooed from nearby and he winked at them. “My little brother seems to think that some of you fine upstanding women are looking for a little fun. That wouldn’t be any of you, now, would it?” He let himself smile. Slow. Honey. Licked his lips. There was a woman in a leopard print dress practically undressing him with her eyes and Dean returned the look. Someone else in a black sequined top was giggling at him, eyes bright on champagne and desire. Too many alcohol-fuelled hormones and not a husband in sight.

Oh yeah. This party was a goldmine.

But manners were always important.

“First thing’s first, ladies. I hear there’s a special someone here tonight?”

More giggling. Everyone looked to the side, and _oh,_ that’s where Sam had been hiding. A couch in the corner with pillows thrown haphazardly on the floor. He had a gorgeous woman on his lap, white dress and dark skin and Sam’s hand between her legs. Her back against his bare chest.

Sam was unapologetically naked. Smirking at Dean from over her shoulder.

Fuck yeah.

“Hey, bro.” Dean swaggered over. This was a show. As much for the bride as it was for everyone else in the room. He rolled his body down, ended up on his knees between the woman’s thighs, which were between _Sam’s_ thighs, spread wide across the couch. “And hello to you, gorgeous,” he murmured. Just loud enough for the closest onlookers to hear. He put a hand on her chin. He couldn’t see Sam’s fingers but he could see the effect they were having on her and it flushed him with pride. Yeah, that was his little brother. What a pro. “May I?” he asked, and when she nodded, tiny gasp, he pressed his lips to hers, tongue darting out to taste. Getting a mouthful of her breath and making it wet. Obscene. Angling himself just right so the other women could see. Ass out so no one would feel left out. Catcalls sounding more like they were egging him on.

Until Sam grabbed at the back of his head. Pulled him up.

“What?” said Dean, letting Sam frame his face with those giant hands. “Jealous? Want it back?” Because this was part of the show, too. When Sam yanked his hair Dean went easy, settling on the arm of the sofa, so when Sam licked the bride’s taste out of his mouth he had to stretch up, almost couldn’t reach, the lines of his body like a fucking sculpture. Faintly glittering. Still with his hand between her legs because god _damn_ , if he wasn’t a professional through and through.

“That’s so fucking hot,” someone swore, and Dean grinned into Sam’s kiss. Used his tongue to explore the familiar terrain of his brother’s mouth. Made it loud. Wet. Bit at his lips to get him gasping. The bride’s taste was long gone and it was just them, now. Curving into each other. They were good at this. Two hot guys fighting over a woman. Brothers. Wet dream come true for most of the people in the room, and who cares if he thought his brother was hot? Fact of the business. No one would _actually_ believe they were related, anyway.

From his angle on the arm of the chair he could see that Sam wasn’t naked, after all. Pink lace was stretched tight across his hips.

Sam winked at him.

“Oh, you devil,” Dean protested. “Are those mine?”

A chorus of titters from the crowd, which had grown sizably larger since Dean’s arrival. And whose idea had it been to organise a hen’s night with only one male escort?

It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Ladies,” he said, eyeing them from his periphery. “Twenty bucks says I can make him cream those panties. Any takers?”

“Yes! Yes!” The bride was wriggling around in Sam’s lap to sit side-on, trying to get a better view. Skin flushed. Sam had done that to her.

“Are you a betting lady?” Dean grinned at her.

“Yeah, she is!” “Do it, Suze!” “Take it, Suzie, take it!”

Not thinking straight with Sam’s fingers inside her but hell, that’s what they were here for anyway.

“Get my purse!” she called and the room disintegrated into catcalls, shouting, laughing. Everyone giddy from adrenaline and excitement and from Sam and Dean working them over.

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam whined, “you know I can’t do it untouched.”

 _Liar,_ Dean thought.

“Shh, little brother, you don’t want to disappoint these beautiful young women, do you?”

More giggles. Complementing an entire room all in one go. Sam put his face in the bride’s neck like he was hiding. His teeth on her delicate skin. Gentle, gentle. No marks for the husband to find. The sound of Sam’s voice in her ear would be one of the last things she remembered as an unmarried woman.

Dean scraped his fingers back through Sam’s hair, tugging gently until he repositioned. The bride-to-be, Suzie, pulled away to sit next to Sam instead of on top of him, thoughtfully allowing unobstructed view to Sam’s body. Dean moved to sit on the back of the couch with Sam in between his legs, black boots framing the lacy pink underwear. Sam’s head leaning back against his crotch. He kissed his way over Sam’s ear, bent over the top of him, pulling Sam this way and that to get to where he wanted. Licked up and under Sam’s jaw, nipping at his cheek, pulling Sam up with him, stretching him out, letting the crowd watch him as he did it. Sam could come just from this, Dean knew from experience, but they both wanted to draw it out. Get the crowd hooked. Sam was making all the right noises. Going straight to every clit in the room and getting Dean hard in his own pants, too. Sam would be able to feel that at the back of his head.

He flicked one finger down, swirled it around one of Sam’s nipples, then tugged gently. Sam arched, crying out, and Dean tugged again, firmer.

“No fair!” cried Suzie, giggling.

Dean grinned at her. “Now you’re changing the rules on me, sweetheart.” But he took his hand away from Sam’s chest anyway. Sam cried out like it was a torment. Drama queen. But Suzie put her little fingers on the same place and Sam moved her wrist to the side until she was doing the same thing. Squeezing. Fondling. Sam writhed and he could probably come any second now but Dean wanted something else. Something to make the room go crazy.

Sam still had one hand on Suzie—working hard, if her pupil-blown eyes were anything to judge by—but his other hand was just resting on the couch so Dean kicked it gently with his foot. Didn’t have to say anything out loud. Sam already knew what he wanted. Got his hand up, reaching blindly back for Dean. Got his fingers in Dean’s shirt and yanked, sharp and hard. The fabric was cheap—a bulk ordered t-shirt—and it ripped straight away. There were audible groans from the crowd as Dean flexed.

He had them wrapped around his pinkie.

He put his lips back to Sam’s neck, bit down, gentle, then harder. Pulled at the skin so the crowd could see what he was doing. Sam moaned like a porn star, _better_ than a porn star, and every one of his muscles bunched up as he jerked forward. Dick twitching beneath pink lace. Coming from nothing but Dean’s mouth and Suzie’s fingers. Dean’s hard cock at the back of his head. His other arm twisting until the bride-to-be was gasping too, falling back against the couch as they came.

Fuck.

Yeah.

No way there was a single pair of dry panties in the room right now.

He disentangled himself from where Sam was cooing at the moaning bride-to-be. Slipped the twenty into his back pocket then stood in the middle of the room and casually pulled the fragments of his shirt off, as if he was flicking dust from his shoulder. He ran his hands down his neck, his chest, his abs, then looked sideways at the room.

“So,” he said, all teeth. “Who’s first?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a prompt on spn kink meme but I can’t find it anymore. It was something about Dean and Sam being totally chill with each other as prostitutes and I took that to the obvious end point and got them both at a party together WHO CAN BLAME ME REALLY these two professional jackpots istg.
> 
> Edit: it has been found! The original prompt is [here](https://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/122619.html?thread=43641851#t44277243)


End file.
